Well.

Well, well.

So it had happened at last. The Big One; the Great Un-ing; the Final Passage into the True Unknown.

Well, perhaps it shouldn't come as a surprise; nor did it really, in the end. And a final exit down the river Styx was certainly a nicer surprise than immediate complete oblivion, as he'd always been told would happen––unless, of course, the complete oblivion was still waiting just around the corner. Which was plenty likely.

Styx was actually quite beautiful––peaceful, serene. Perhaps it was the vague atmosphere, the hazy fog concealing most of the surroundings. Or maybe his life had just been that full of racing from one activity to another. He could hardly recall the details now; not that he wanted to. But he did remember the faces, and that was more than enough. It was more than what he wanted to remember. He didn't want to remember; he wanted to forget.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because… I deserve it… and you don't."

The Ferryman pushed on, poling the little boat through the fog, saying nothing. It was the Ferryman he couldn't think about for long; there was something highly unsettling about this hooded and cloaked figure, whose presence alone set every nerve on edge. Seeking a distraction, he tried to concentrate on the atmosphere. It was calming, but also depressing––so depressing that, for a moment, he stared out at the swirling mist all around them and thought perhaps it wouldn't make a difference to just slip over the edge into the glistening unknown and simply vanish; cease to be. The Ferryman certainly wouldn't care.

"You might not want to do that. This is not a normal river."

He blinked, then checked himself. He must have been feeling the atmosphere more than he'd realized; he had been resting on the edge of the boat, but had been slowly leaning forward an inch at a time until he was now almost hanging over the side. Reluctantly he drew back, but said dully, "Why not? Does it make a difference?"

The Ferryman had been humming idly—or at least in a way that sounded idle—but spoke again. "Quite a bit of a difference, actually. You probably wouldn't realize it until afterwards, but you would come to know it well, once you did it."

Had he been in his usual spirits, he would have made remarks with much more excessive profanity, but he only answered flatly, "I'm dead. What possible difference is there?"

The Ferryman chuckled, but oddly enough, it was not in mockery. "Everything makes a difference."

He looked back at the fog below with uncertainty. "Would… would it totally erase me?"

"No," the Ferryman replied. "There is only one way to Unmake, and that shall never come to pass." There was a definite edge in these words. "But it would change you, and probably not in a way you'd appreciate. A change in form is merely a change in form, but there are forms that take on new things, and there are forms that shed old things. If you can't shed the things you need to, it adds unnecessary weight, and if you try to take on new things when you haven't let go of the old, it could hurt you."

There was genuine sympathy in the words, he realized. A flash of irritation flickered through his sluggish mind, giving him the energy to turn and face the Ferryman. "Do you even know what I am?" he demanded, mustering as much venom as he could summon.

There was no face or expression he could see to read beneath that hood, but he could feel it, which was intensely unnerving. It almost seemed as if the Ferryman knew perfectly well; and not only knew it, but actually understood it better than he himself did. But the Ferryman only responded mildly, "What do you call yourself?"

"I'm an imp from Hell," he said snidely. "Name's Blitzo." He would have added a surly remark about how his friends called him "Blitz," whereas he would request the Ferryman to kindly participate in unmentionable activities, but whether it was that the atmosphere of Styx did not permit this or for some other reason, he found that he could not respond with these eccentricities. "I was born and bred from and for evil, and I can't be anything else, and I'd never want to be anything else. I didn't care about anyone while I was alive, and I still don't now that I'm dead."

It was at this point he made a fresh discovery: it wasn't just profanity that was suddenly difficult to utter. He was already aware that his assertions were not quite strictly true, but this was his natural way of speaking, chiefly because he would never admit to anyone (aside from maybe his daughter) his deeper feelings about much, even to himself. But the moment he tried to say such things now, he was practically choking on the words; there was something that simply would not allow him to speak anything but plain, undecorated honesty. After a moment's struggle, he yielded to the easier path, muttering grumpily, "At least, I don't… want people to… know I care."

Seemingly indifferent, the Ferryman nodded in acknowledgement, not looking at him. "And how did you die?"

Blitz did his best to put on his fiercest grin, but knew it was a dismal parody. "Like a boss." He'd meant to leave it at that, but something was inducing him to give a better explanation. "Took one for my team. Got shot right in the chest with a blessing-tipped bullet––blood and guts everywhere." He put his back to the Ferryman, trying to settle his jangling nerves. "If I had to go, I'd never want it to be any way but epic."

"Interesting," the Ferryman commented, almost as if there was another laugh hidden beneath the surface. "And what led to such an epic end?"

Blitz folded his arms uncomfortably. A sudden suspicion awakened in his mind that perhaps it was the Ferryman who was somehow intentionally making him talk like this. But there was something else driving it on now––a slow kind of pushing deep within him, drawing it out of him. "I… took one for my team," he repeated stiffly, reluctantly giving in to the utterance of plain truth. "Stepped in… in front of a––a buddy." All the emotions he'd attempted to stave off began creeping into him again, slowly building as he spoke. "His ex tried to kill him. So I… I just did what anyone would." He stopped there, leaving out the part about what had happened just before that moment––the Grand Reveal, when the ex in question had exposed him as a thief and a con artist, who had been manipulating her vulnerable husband to access the mortal realm; when his betrayal was revealed in front of everyone…

… when he lost his closest friend.

Though his back was still turned, he could feel the Ferryman peering searchingly at him. "Would just 'anyone' do that?"

"Not where I'm from," Blitz admitted. "And probably not for someone like him. Not that any of them cared about him in all this," he added bitterly.

"Certainly not like you did," the Ferryman agreed, the smile now far more audible. "Which really nullifies your initial argument about not caring."

On any other level of reality, Blitz would have called that tone "smugness," but it didn't resonate the same way. He couldn't pinpoint what was off about it, so he ignored it. His skin was already crawling from just talking to the Ferryman, and he had no desire to give it more thought than was necessary.

Still methodically steering the vessel along, the Ferryman continued, "Now that it's all said and done, do you think it was worth it?"

Blitz said nothing, thinking it over. Had it been worth it? "I don't know," he murmured, mainly to himself. Part of him really didn't want to continue this unsettling conversation, but another part of him was no longer holding back. What did it matter, anyway? The Ferryman was the only one here, and he'd never see anyone again after crossing over. "As long as he's okay, I guess I'd say yes—I'm sure Moxxie and Millie have everything well under control." He never once lost confidence in his team's capabilities; only occasionally in their savvy in the mortal world, which he himself had never had much of to begin with. "Still," he muttered, "I wouldn't put it past her to keep trying until something worked."

The tang of suspicion made its way back to the forefront of his cloudy mind. "Why do you care so much about me?" he inquired sharply. "What do you get out of knowing about the lives of beings you meet?"

"Nothing at all," was the mild reply. "I can't benefit from anything anyone does."

"Your job must suck," Blitz commented, leaning back against the edge of the boat.

"It's certainly not an easy one," the Ferryman chuckled. "But I have all the time in eternity for it, so I'll see it through to the end."

Time… If there was one thing Blitz wished for more of, it was definitely that. He was never apt at speaking his mind, even to his daughter, but if he could have done more… "What end is that?" he asked hesitantly.

"Once everything has run its full course," the Ferryman answered.

"How long will that take?"

"Enough time."

This discourse seemed to be becoming increasingly cryptic. "How… much time is 'enough'?"

That earned yet another chuckle. "That's of no consequence. I'll make use of whatever there is. This river isn't exactly in time in the same sense that anywhere else might be."

For the first time came a lapse in the conversation, leaving Blitz to his own thoughts. He still wasn't quite sure what he wanted, but he was certain that it wasn't being here. But what good did it do trying to think of what he wanted now? It was too late, wasn't it? He was on his way out; there was nothing he could change here. "I… just… wish…"

The Ferryman turned slightly, as if cocking an ear. "Yes?"

"I wish…" What did he wish? To have his time back? To relive his old life again? To be with his family again?

To be with Stolas again?

The Ferryman seemed to be waiting expectantly, but not impatiently; which made sense, if time was of such little consequence. Choosing his words carefully, Blitz went on, "I just wish I could make it up to them––change something, or at least… try to fix some of what I've done. I've never held back from doing whatever I wanted to get whatever I wanted. It was fun, but it… it got people hurt. People I… care about." He broke off, choking on the lump that suddenly lodged in his throat.

There was another long silence. At last, the Ferryman spoke again: "If you got a chance to go back, what would you do with it?"

"I'd get rid of that woman once and for all first," he spat sourly, having momentarily forgotten that he was unable to curse here. "Once that's over, I'm not sure; I might get back to my old life, or maybe do something else." He halted, swallowing. "I'm honestly not sure I would change that much, but… I would, if it meant––maybe patching things up." If it meant getting Stolas back.

"Ah." The Ferryman was smiling, evidently pleased with this confession; it was almost as if the pleasure came from his own progress in self awareness more than anything else. At length, the Ferryman set aside the pole and crossed to him, laying a hand on his shoulder. This did nothing to help calm Blitz's nerves; in fact, the sense of alarm increased tenfold. He shrank from the touch, shivering like a child in the cold. About them, the surroundings had changed; there was a gentle light from somewhere up ahead, filling the mist with shimmering silver. Other than the growing light, there was no real indication to show that the boat was moving at all.

"If there was a real way to do that, would you accept it?"

Beyond his fear, a new, very gradual sensation began filling Blitz, spreading slowly through his core but rapidly increasing the more he pondered these words. "Are… are you offering me one?"

The Ferryman put a hand deep into the folds of the strange cloak, then drew out a single silver coin. "The world you come from is very different from most; in a manner of speaking, it's not exactly in alignment with the Original. But that also grants it certain flexibility that others don't have." Blitz involuntarily flinched as the Ferryman dropped the coin into his hand. It was far heavier than it appeared; for a second, he had to wonder if it was simply burning right through his hand. "This will take you back to your own world."

At this, a wave of terror smote him. "What's the catch?"

The Ferryman closed his fingers around the coin. "No catch––just the gift."

"Why are you giving me this?" Blitz persisted, trying to mask his growing fear. "What's in it for you?"

"Nothing at all," the Ferryman replied merrily. "I give it because you need it." Patting Blitz on the shoulder, the Ferryman picked up the pole again. "If you step into the river now, you'll be back where you left off."

It never occurred to Blitz that the Ferryman could be lying; the sheer weight of every word of their discussion had been almost like a physical impact, and no one who'd felt that could possibly disbelieve it. Still, as he hesitantly set one foot on the edge of the boat, he glanced back. "This isn't, like, some kind of joke, right?"

There was a gentle smile in the Ferryman's reply: "You must just trust and believe."

Gulping, Blitz peered into the dense fog. He had no idea what would happen to him if he went back, and he had no idea what would happen to him if he went on. There was no certainty of what he would meet moving on, but there was a certainty in going back: seeing Stolas again. That was something he really did want––not to apologize or try to explain himself or start over or make excuses; he just wanted to see him again. With this in mind, he took a deep breath and stepped out into the fog.

The boat drifted on with the current, then shortly ran aground. It had reached a tiny little harbor that fed a waterfall, but before that was a broad bank of cloud filled with light, where a high, golden archway stood, barred with glistening gates. At this gate stood a sentry, who had just witnessed some of the exchange between Blitz and the Ferryman, and had finally watched in astonishment as Blitz stepped off the boat and went down into the river. "What… what just happened?"

The Ferryman stepped from the boat onto the bank, pulling it farther up onto the shore. "Someone was given a second chance."

"B-but an imp from Hell?" the sentry spluttered.

"Not exactly 'Hell,' in that sense," the Ferryman corrected, picking up the boat, which was suddenly much smaller than it had been a moment ago, and shouldering it. "In Hell, there is no Love. That world might be more like a sort of Purgatory."

"But what about the Blood Price?"

Taking the pole, the Ferryman held it as a walking stick. "The debt's already paid. He was just given a sample of Grace."

"Would an imp ever change their ways for it?" asked the sentry in bewilderment.

The Ferryman began hiking up the bank, heading back up the river. "If it's a chance I'm willing to take, wouldn't that mean it's possible?"

After an awkward pause, the sentry confessed, "I'm sorry, I just don't understand. I thought––Isn't that against the rules?"

The Ferryman laughed quietly, turning back to face the sentry. A piercing gleam flashed for a moment beneath the hood, as if the twinkle of winter stars were suddenly brought up close. "I can't break My own rules, Jairus."